


Love and Wrath

by Quillweave



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family Drama, Other, Sad Ending, naming stuff is haaaard guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 10:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17620913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillweave/pseuds/Quillweave
Summary: The Listener learns what his new life demands, the hard way.





	Love and Wrath

**Author's Note:**

> 'To Fall and To Rise' was originally written as a spurt of imagination, a one-off. I had a clear image of the Listener in my head, but I didn't really plan on writing him again. But I couldn't help myself. The idea came, and I wanted to share it with you. Funny thing, though - I don't know why, but my Listener still doesn't have a name. Maybe that's for a reason - maybe being Listener is what defines him, more than anything else.
> 
> (Or maybe naming is hard, and that's why the title of this piece may change. Thanks for reading, folks. It means the world to me.)

It was seeing her kill for the first time that made him realize he loved her.

She was a willowy Bosmer woman, delicate and elegant and who could have _known_ she could drive a dagger home with such force. The splatter-speckle of blood over her tawny cheeks, the way her lip curled to show teeth and the guttural growl that left her as she wrenched her dagger out of the bandits chest. The slow intake of breath as she came back to herself, straightened, looked over at him so sweetly.

“Are you alright, Listener?”

Though he’d given her many contracts himself, he’d never seen her in action before. The contrast was intoxicating. Oh, he’d always thought she was pretty – _beautiful_ even to look at, and skilled at her work. Obedient, devout, everything he could ask for in the struggling task of rebuilding his fallen family.

But _this_ –

A tight swallow, the bob of his apple visible in a slender throat. He nodded, striding closer to give one of the bandit corpses a kick, tumbling to the side of the road. “I’m fine. Well done, Executioner.”

“Thank you, Listener.” And that smile, so gentle and elegant even as blood dribbled down her lip, as the pink tip of her tongue darted out to lick it away.

_Sithis_.

He watched her closely after that. Stepped in for Nazir to choose her contracts, spoke with her privately for her reports. Reports turned into little asides, shared stories of their work to chuckle and grin over. Little asides turned into long, winding conversations, about everything from the Brotherhood to their pasts to nothing at all…

It was one of those nights. They’d spent the evening together after she’d come home, curled up on the plush chair in his chambers. She’d been so tired, and even as they spoke her voice had grown softer and softer, eyes heavy. Now she lay nestled against him, head against his chest with his arm wound around her. Lips parted just so, delicate eyelids flickering in dreams. Her fair locks close enough to catch the scent of, spicy musk and sweat and blood. He lowered his nose to her hair, inhaling deep.

“I must advise against this.”

Drowsy himself, it took a moment for him to realize who had spoken. It wasn’t often the old, long-dead phantom appeared unannounced. He stood behind them, hands held behind his back as his chin inclined to his chest.

“Lucien.” He kept his voice low. “Shh. She’s sleeping.”

“She will only hear me if you wish her to, Listener.”

Hmn. A frown. He shifted gently, careful to keep her weight comfortably balanced as he spoke. “Advise against what?”

Though he had no need for breath, Lucien’s nares flared. A long moment passed as he considered his words, gaze flickering to the woman, back to him. “… This.”

Apprehension trickled down his spine. He held her a little closer in response, narrowing his eyes. “… What are you talking about, Lachance?”

“Intimacy among members of the Brotherhood is ill-advised at best in the lower ranks. Never disallowed, but troublesome.” He spoke so cleanly, so matter-of-fact. “But you are the Listener.”

“So?”

“You must have the good of the entire Family in mind, always. You serve the Night Mother and Sithis himself first and foremost.”

“Are you saying,” the younger man’s voice fell soft, dangerously low, “That I _don’t_?”

He didn’t take the bait. “I am saying such relationships can only cloud your judgment and create schisms in the Family.”

His jaw clenched. If it weren’t for her against him, so close and soft and warm, he’d have stood. Instead he only narrowed his eyes, staring hard at the old assassin over his shoulder. A moment, longer. Then a deep breath of his own, turning away.

“If I want your advice, I’ll _ask_ for it. You’re dismissed, _Speaker_.”

A coldness left the room in his wake, and yet somehow lingered inside him. Creeping down his chest to clutch at his heart, lingering in the back of his mind. Then she stirred beside him, sighing softly, and the ice melted away.

Yes. He could do this, couldn’t he? Have his Family, his purpose _and_ her. After the confusion of being alone so long, of finally finding them, of being Listener and Astrid’s betrayal and rebuilding from nothing, didn’t he _deserve_ this? He could have it all.

Couldn’t he?

Then the rumours started.

In a Family so small, in such close quarters, it was inevitable. She got first pick of contracts and better pay. She got more free time if she wished it. She got his attention, his adoration, his love, leaving her siblings in the cold.

All because, one Brother spat, he was _fucking_ her.

He’d punished him, of course. Sentenced him to two weeks of being bound to the Sanctuary, working on menial chores. And that had done nothing but worsen the situation.

He was alone in his chambers this time, splashing cold water from the basin over his face. It offered no relief, no clarity of mind. A long moment staring into a bronzed mirror before he pulled away, hugging himself tight.

… He’d been listening to his lover’s whispers, most nights, filling the emptiness. It had been too long since he’d been given _Hers._

“Lucien.”

He was there. He didn’t need to look to know that. A hard swallow, head tilting back to let droplets race from his brow into the cloud of his hair, along his scalp. “… What do I _do_?”

“What you must, for the good of the Family.” A low rumble, gentle and deep as a newly turned grave. Soft, cool, enveloping. “For Sithis and our Matron.”

He sucked in air through his teeth, wiry, dark hands dusted with freckles turning white-knuckled. He didn’t dare look up, not to see the phantom behind him or his own reflection.

“But I don’t know what to _do._ I don’t – “

Screaming.

He was out before he knew it, twin daggers drawn, half expecting to find the Penitus Oculatus at their door again. But, no. The truth was worse, so much worse.

An argument escalated, Babette explained. Between his lover and one of the newer siblings. The younger had attacked –

And now lay motionless, blank-eyed before him.

“I – I – I, I didn’t _mean_ to, I – “ The Bosmer’s head jerked, eyes darting desperately from face to face in search of support, seeking mercy in their gaze. Finally, they lingered on his own. Tears streaked freely, a thin, pointed blade coated in blood still wet in her hands. “He launched at me, and I, I only meant to defend myself, to get him away – “

Astrid had thrown away the Five Tenets and, in her last moments, realized her mistake. He had always known they mattered, always felt that tingle down his back when he would run his fingers down those carven words on the plaque.

_Never kill a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis._

And who was he as Listener, but Sithis’ wrath incarnate?

He made it quick. He made it merciful. He stayed calm and cool even as she begged, even as she gave in, even as Nazir lead her to tilt her head over the block.

Only when he was alone did he break.

Retching over the floor in a spew. Stumbling like a drunk to a table, desperate for something to cling to, a man drowning. Taking deep, sucking breaths through choked-back sobs before, at last, sinking to his knees.

“Is this how it felt?” He managed to gasp, a sound almost like laughter leaving him. “The Purification? Was this – “ Another cracking, hollow chuckle. “To do your duty? To put everything else first?”

Cold as the blade had been in his hands. “Yes.”

Laughter. Mad, barking laughter until he squeezed his eyes shut, pushing away tears, pushing away the throbbing in his temple. “How did you live through it?”

A wry, bittersweet smirk in that whisper. “I didn’t.”

On all fours, crouched over, forehead pressed against blessedly cool stone. The laughter softened, shriveled until the sounds he made were little more than whimpers. Then, finally, he pulled himself up.

“Did you love your Family, Lucien? The n-names you talked about – Vicente, Teinaava, Telaendril. Did you love them?”

“I did.” Without hesitation, without regret or shame. Another deep breath and the Listener stood taller, swallowed his tears.

“That’s why you did what you had to.”

“Yes.” Better they die in a sacrifice, with some measure of honour, than to betray themselves and their Family. They would have wanted that.

_She’d_ wanted that, in the end.

“I think I loved her, Lucien. I really do.”

A cool hand only half-there on his shoulder.

“And that is why you did as you had to.”

He began to wash his face once more, removing all traces of tears and mucus and blood. Adjusting his robes, taking deep breaths, new understanding filling him whole as his Mother’s voice returned.

_You understand, now. My pain, and why I can never regret it._ Five squalling infants, five tiny corpses. _My sweet Listener. I do love you, my child, always._

Of course, he thought with a distant, mirthless smile. You always, _always_ hurt the ones you love.

 

 


End file.
